


so you are

by mellyflori



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/pseuds/mellyflori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“With all the time you’ve spent bent over staring at my leg this week, I might just think you liked being down there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	so you are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryfeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryfeather/gifts).



> For cherryfeather. I offered her porn in gratitude for her posting a new chapter of Nor Mars His Sword (which was like being emotionally punched in the face), she asked for Aramis riding Porthos in the aftermath of 02x03.

_As your lover describes you, so you are._  
-Jeanette Winterson

***

It still hurts (‘You ripped an arrowhead out of your leg last week, of _course_ it still hurts,” had been Aramis’ response to Porthos’ grimace the first time he mounted his horse) and now, several days of misplaced pride later, he has to admit that he went back to his duties too fast. 

Porthos had spent the first two days flat on his back, making sure that no infection set in and catching up on all the sleep and meals he’d missed while locked in that attic. When those days were over, he’d stubbornly refused any further treatment and put himself back to work. 

If it had been Athos, Porthos would have locked him in his room before letting him out of bed that soon after an injury so serious.  He’d have stopped any of them, but no one was around to stop him.  Porthos had sent the nurses away, dressed himself, and made it to the garrison yard through sheer force of will.  Aramis had just been finishing giving a report on his status as Porthos walked in.

“…. another few days at least before he’s back." 

“It seems as though your estimates are wrong, Aramis,” Tréville says, gesturing to Porthos. 

Athos had glowered and Aramis had looked hurt and d’Artagnan had just looked back and forth between those two as Porthos set his jaw and refused to be moved.  In the end, they’d just stepped aside and let him get to work.  Too soon, he knows now, far too soon, and he’s not hiding it well. They all know it and he knows it and none of them is saying a word. 

That first day, Porthos had given in to Aramis’ long faces for the narrowest of compromises.  He would allow Aramis to inspect the wound once in the morning and once at night to ensure that it was healing and not getting worse or coming to a fester. 

Now, a week later, Porthos is seated on his bed, his back propped against the wall, dressed only in his shirt and braies.  Aramis is still dressed, having shed only his coat, draping it gently over the table by the door.  He’s bent over Porthos’ leg, candle held close, palpating the edges of the tear and making little, thoughtful humming noises under his breath. 

“With all the time you’ve spent bent over staring at my leg this week, I might just think you liked being down there." 

He’ll never know exactly why he says it, especially with that unmistakably fond tone.  He meant to give a biting reminder of his own competence and his complete lack of need for an over-protective nurse, but he’s so, so tired. 

In response, Aramis jerks his head up and looks straight into Porthos’ eyes.

His face looks… Porthos thinks the last time he saw this face on Aramis it was just after a small village priest had scolded him for his language.  Aramis looks guilty.  Guilty and caught.  Porthos’ eyes go wide; he’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but he’d been sure he was alone in his wants.

Aramis stands up and puts the candle back on the bedside table.  “I believe you’re well sorted there, should heal fine on its own from here on out." 

He turns to leave and Porthos reaches over to grab at the sleeve of his shirt.  The movement puts his balance just far enough off that he has to throw his other arm out to catch himself on the edge of the bed.  Porthos snatches his outstretched hand back to the bed and holds himself still, a little grunt of pain sneaking out as he feels his hips and legs try to compensate for the shift in weight.

Aramis turns quickly at the sound, eyes wide.  He steps back to the bed and drops into a crouch so he can look again into Porthos’ face.  “Are you alright?”  He looks down at the wound.  “Has the wound opened? How badly does it hurt?" 

Porthos puts one hand on his shoulder.  “Not near as bad as if you walk out that door without letting me set you straight.”   Aramis’ face goes confused and his head tilts slightly. Porthos’ grip flexes against his shoulder and he takes a deep breath, settling himself and making up his mind.  He leans in slowly, never moving his eyes from Aramis’.  There is time enough for Aramis to see him coming, for Aramis’ pupils to go wide and his breathing to speed up. Most importantly, there is time for Aramis to move if this is not what he wants. 

“Yes?” Porthos is so close that Aramis can feel the breath on his lips. 

“Yes,” Aramis says and closes the distance. 

It’s chilly in the room, but Porthos is sure that’s not the reason that Aramis shivers against him.  He can feel the muscles of Aramis’ shoulder bunch and release under his hand and hear the soft, helpless sound Aramis makes in his throat.  Porthos feels drunk with it, with the scorch of Aramis’ heat under his hand.  

 

He can feel Aramis’ tongue against his lips, licking against his mouth as Aramis’ arms come up around his neck.  Porthos feels like he’s sinking into this kiss. He feels Aramis' arms around him, the sound of Aramis’ moans in his ears and the taste of Aramis’ wine on his tongue.  All he can smell is the bite of sweat and the tang of leather. It’s like Aramis is in every one of his senses. Porthos’ eyes are closed but his mind is full of the sight they must make.   Every bit of this comes up and over Porthos like falling into sleep, but he’s never had a dream this good. 

Aramis’ tongue is stroking against his own now, little whimpers escaping into Porthos’ mouth and the feeling of Aramis’ body arching against his own.  Porthos wants more, he wants Aramis against him and on him and their skin pressing together.  There will never be enough skin.  He tugs on Aramis’ shoulder and he can feel Aramis’ body arching over his as he stands, bending to keep the kiss going.  Aramis puts one knee on the bed and tries to throw the other leg over Porthos’ lap. 

At some point, the weight shifts or a part of him bumps Porthos’ leg and Porthos can’t help the hissing gasp of pain.  Aramis tears his mouth away with a shocked and terrified face.  “Have I hurt you?" 

“’S alright.  Wasn’t your fault, we both got carried away." 

Aramis frowns and starts to stand again, he’s back to one knee on the bed and one foot on the floor. “This is a terrible idea and we should stop before you push your recovery back or get further injured."

Porthos’ grip tightens on his arm.  “This _is_ a terrible idea, but if you try to stop I’m just going to get even more hurt trying to thrash you." 

There’s a grin in Aramis’ eyes. “I.. want to. I’ve wanted to for so long, but we can’t put any weight on that leg.”  He glances down and then back up, there’s a glint in his smile now. “Though…" 

Porthos growls, then says, “C’mon, out with it." 

Aramis puts a hand on his chest, pushing him so he is sliding himself further down the bed, lowering himself nearly flat.  “If you can promise me to be very, very still, to not move or otherwise stress those muscles, I think I can put some pressure on your body a bit above the area of injury." 

With a flickered glance down his own body to see the hot, red pucker of skin still healing near his knee, but above that is the cradle of his groin, his cock already swelling underneath the linen at the thought of Aramis over him.  “Is that your medical opinion?” he asks. 

A corner of Aramis’ mouth quirks up. “It’s my opinion as someone who’s wanted to get his hands on you for years and can’t bear the thought of wasting a chance.”  His face grows serious for a moment and he bends to trace the fingers of one hand over Porthos’ face.  “I have thought, so many times, of how it would feel to tell you all the things I wanted.”  He presses his mouth to Porthos’ again, close-mouthed at first and then his tongue licking out to flick at Porthos’ upper lip.  “In my most fevered and beautiful dreams the kisses were never this sweet.”

Porthos’ hand clenches around his arm.  “Aramis.”   As Porthos might have guessed, the sound of his own name as a plea is all it takes for Aramis. He braces himself against the wall to pull his boots off, popping the buttons on his breeches as he stands, slipping the braces off his shoulders and letting the whole mess of fabric pool at his ankles. 

When Aramis starts to pull his shirt over his head, Porthos reaches out.  “Please, I want to." 

Aramis stands beside the bed again, holding a hand out for Porthos and pulling him into a sitting position.  He sits on the bed facing Porthos and feels those big, strong hands stroking up over his shoulders, thumbs teasing at the bare skin around his neck.   Porthos drops his hands to Aramis’ waist, gathering the fabric up into his hands and then slipping his fingers underneath the folds, the rough pads of his fingertips skimming over Aramis’ ribs until Aramis gasps at how good it feels.  Just this bare hint of contact is enough to raise gooseflesh on Aramis’ arms. 

Porthos’ hands push up under the shirt, palms flat against Aramis’ chest and the heels of his hands dragging over Aramis’ nipples.  They both shudder a bit at that. Then Aramis feels Porthos’ hands under his arms, pushing at them.  He raises his hands over his head and lets Porthos slide his hands up each arm, dragging the fabric along with him until Aramis can feel his wrists slip free and the shirt fall behind him in a forgotten heap of linen. 

Bending his head, Porthos lays a fierce, sucking kiss against Aramis’ collarbone and listens to the whine in Aramis’ throat.   Aramis slides his hands up and over Porthos’ shoulders, dragging the fabric up into his fists and pulling forward.  Porthos bends his head and feels the shirt pull up and over his back, his head slipping loose and then the bulk of the fabric sliding down his arm, pooling at his wrists until they, too are free. 

Aramis’ eyes are wide and stunned.  While he’s seen Porthos in his shirt countless times, these days he most often sees Porthos shirtless when he’s tending an injury, never when he has time to look, to savor. His hand stops just shy of touching but even so he can feel the heat coming from Porthos’ skin.  Aramis’ fingers twitch and Porthos wonders why he’s not touching yet. 

“Aramis?”  Porthos’ voice is concerned and slightly confused. 

Aramis’ voice is reverent when he says, “You are unspeakably beautiful."

“With all these scars?” Porthos huffs out a laugh. 

Aramis puts one hand on either side of Porthos’ hips and bends his head to put a long, tender kiss over the most prominent scar on Porthos’ chest before saying, “Unspeakably beautiful." 

Porthos’ growl rumbles low in his belly and Aramis can feel it in his own skin.  He bends his head lower and licks at another scar, kissing the skin and sucking lightly at it.  He continues across and down, baring his teeth to sink them into the flesh at the side of Porthos’ waist.   

“So beautiful." 

“Aramis,” Porthos’ voice is barely a breath but Aramis can feel the evidence of Porthos' arousal thumping against his shoulder.  He hums and lets the sound vibrate against Porthos’ skin before sitting up again.  Aramis presses kisses all over Porthos’ face, his eyelids, his cheeks, the strong angles of his jaw, and all the while his fingers, long and precise, make short work of the laces on the front of Porthos’ braies. 

“God, Aramis,” Porthos groans as the cool air of the room hits his hot flesh and his cock is laid bare and twitching and weeping with want.  When Aramis doesn’t speak or move for a moment, Porthos looks up at his face; he’s just staring down at Porthos’ groin, eyes dark and wide and breathing suddenly fast. “Something wrong?”  Porthos’ voice is worried. 

Aramis’ eyes come up to meet his face and there’s a look of strange wonder there. “No! Not at all.”  He glances down again.  “No, I am only discovering that you are unspeakably beautiful everywhere, my love.” 

Porthos’ sudden groan sounds almost pained. He’s been trying, all these long, close moments, to make this encounter a physical event, to not let his heart come into play.  It had become clear that Aramis wanted his body, wanted to kiss and touch, but Porthos worried that if he thought Porthos wanted more he’d spook and run.  Aramis and romance, Aramis and love, they have not been the best of friends of late, but to hear those words from Aramis’ mouth is everything Porthos could have dreamed of. 

He grips Aramis on either side of his head, thumbs digging into the hollows behind Aramis’ ears and kisses him breathless. When he breaks the kiss, Porthos is swallowing deep gulps of air, struggling not to be overwhelmed.  His forehead rests against Aramis’ and he hasn’t let go of Aramis’ head. 

Porthos feels Aramis' palms against his own cheeks,  feels Aramis' thumbs stroke over his face, over his eyebrows.  “My love,” he says.  “My love. My love. My love,” and between each declaration he presses another kiss to Porthos’ mouth. 

The sound Porthos makes is close to a sob and he clings to Aramis, kissing him back as though he would be content to do only this for hours.  He would, of course.  With a last soft kiss, Aramis pulls back. 

“Did you think?—" 

“I didn’t know,” Porthos says. “I didn’t."

Aramis strokes his fingers along Porthos scalp, feeling those curls twine around his fingers. “And you would never have asked, would you?  My beautiful man with your big heart and so much love, you would have been content to take all my kisses and never ask for my heart."

“Isn’t my place,” Porthos says.

“On the contrary, it is uniquely your place.  Just as there is a place in my heart for each of my loves, there is a place which suits only you. No other would ever fit.”  He kisses Porthos’ forehead, his nose, his mouth.  

Porthos sinks into this kiss like he did the first one, and before long Aramis can feel Porthos’ softened cock twitch against his arm.   He sucks and bites at Porthos’ lower lip tugging it out and letting out loose with a loud smack. Aramis peppers kisses over Porthos’ neck and out each shoulder while Porthos sucks viciously again at his collarbone.  Porthos’ skin has become so exquisitely sensitive that each kiss feels like fire licking at him. 

“Aramis,” he gasps. “I want to see you."

Standing, Aramis quickly shimmies out of his own braies and lets them fall to the floor.  His own cock had only grown stiffer during the declarations and the kissing and now he is throbbing in the open air.  “Yes,” Porthos says. “God, yes.” 

Aramis doesn’t even know who Porthos is talking to, what question he might be answering, all he knows is that under Porthos’ gaze is the most naked he’s ever felt, and the safest. Porthos won’t hurt him, won’t leave him, won’t let him fall.  

Returning to the bed, Aramis pushes him backward again until Porthos is flat against the pillow.  Aramis sits next to him and trails his fingers down Porthos’ chest, ghosting over the tendons of his groin and along the length of Porthos’ cock.  It jerks fiercely against his fingers and Porthos gasps.  Aramis wraps his fingers around it, feeling it hot and heavy in his hand.  

“Shhh,” he whispers.  “If you move or strain yourself I will stop, threats of thrashing or no." 

Porthos bites his lower lip and grunts in frustration.

“I know,” Aramis is all but cooing. “It’s so very hard for you to be so still. You’re always so powerful, always using your strength to keep the rest of us safe, but this time I need you to keep that strength inside.  I need you to use it to keep so very still for me.”  He presses the sweetest of kisses on Porthos’ mouth.  “Let me do the work this time.” 

Porthos groans but nods in agreement. 

Aramis trails his fingers over Porthos’ erection again, feeling it shockingly hot against his skin. “I want…” he trails off and there are spots of color high on his cheeks. 

“What?” Porthos asks. “’S not like you to be shy.”  He cups Aramis’ cheek in one big hand and tilts his face up until their eyes meet.  “Tell me." 

“I want everything, but I— there are those who would find my tastes displeasing.  Sickening even.”  Aramis is prepared for almost any response, but Porthos’ soft chuckle catches him by surprise. 

“Aramis, I grew up cheek by jowl in a place not best known for living by other peoples’ rules. Unless you’re about to tell me you want to go outside and kick puppies, it’s not likely to shock me.”  He jostles Aramis’ shoulder a bit.  “Out with it.” 

Looking down again, Aramis can see the object of his current fantasies, can see it pressing against his hand. “There are ways that men fit together."

“Yeah,” Porthos says. “I’ve seen and done a fair few of them.”  

Aramis’ eyes fly up to meet his. “Have you, now?”  There’s a hint of tease along with the surprise. “Then, my love, I wonder if you might let me feel you inside me?” 

Porthos groans again and Aramis can feel his cock jerking in response. “Yeah. God. Fuck. Yeah, I want that.”  He strokes a thumb over Aramis’ lower lip and Aramis can see the thoughts, the fantasies, playing out over Porthos’ face.  Porthos won’t stop staring at his mouth.

“Yes, there too, sometime soon.  But for tonight I was rather hoping for something different,” and his eyes flick down his own body.  Porthos jerks against him again and his hips give an involuntary hitch. “Porthos, you promised me you could keep still." 

“I will. I can. I promise.”  His eyes are so nakedly sincere that Aramis only smiles.

A thought occurs to Aramis and he frowns a little. “Though if I can’t think of something to ease the way it might be my mouth, after all.”  He squeezes his hand around Porthos’ cock. 

Porthos hisses and sighs. “On the table by the pitcher. There’s a brown jar." 

Leaning to the side, Aramis can just reach it. It’s a small jar, setting perfectly in the curve of his hand, but heavy.  Pulling the stopper from the wide mouth, Aramis smells almonds. “And what is this for when we are not about to pervert it?" 

Porthos smiles up at him, mouth curling and dimples flashing. “My hair. It’s mostly tallow and some almond oil. You and your dirty mind, Aramis." 

“Mm,” Aramis agrees, sniffing at the jar again. “Please do us both the honor of not pretending you don’t love it." 

“I love it,” Porthos agrees, and Aramis leans to kiss him again. The kiss grows deep and dirty and Aramis rolls his hips against Porthos’ side.  Porthos grips him by the shoulders, holding him like he never wants the kissing to end.  Aramis sighs under his hands and lets it go on and on. 

When they finally pull apart Aramis thinks that while he does still want to feel Porthos inside him, he also wants to explore and to play.  He wants to kiss all the places on Porthos he never thought he’d see.   He moves until he is straddling Porthos’ waist, feeling his cock still hot against him, and holds the jar out to Porthos. 

“Will you? Will you open me so that I can take you?”  Porthos’ eyes blow wide and there’s a dry click as he swallows. 

“Fuck, Aramis, how can you just—“ He shakes his head and takes the jar.  Porthos dips two fingers into it, letting the pomatum cling to his skin.  He scoops some out and with his other hand he pulls Aramis back into a kiss.   Porthos rubs his fingers together, warming the tallow, then with a tentative movement, he slides his fingers down through the crease of Aramis’ ass. 

Aramis groans into the kiss and bucks against him and then sighs softly against Porthos’ mouth.  Porthos curls one finger and strokes his knuckle over the entire stretch of skin from the top of the crease to the spot just behind Aramis’ balls.  He strokes it over and over until Aramis is moving back into the caress, letting his body ask for him. 

Moaning into his kisses, Aramis can feel Porthos’ perfect, thick fingers pushing against him, teasing and soothing him.  He presses kisses against Porthos’ neck, into the curve of his shoulder, just above his heart.  He’s curled over, licking against a spot just above Porthos’ heart when he feels that knuckle finally pressing and rubbing over his hole and Aramis gasps and then sinks his teeth into Porthos’ skin.

Porthos hisses again but doesn’t jerk his hips this time; Aramis wonders how far he is stretching Porthos’ already limited patience.  He lets Porthos spend the next half hour opening him slowly, stretching and pressing, always slick and gentle.  All the while, Aramis is running his fingers along Porthos’ ribs, clutching at his shoulders, kissing everywhere he can reach. 

When Aramis runs out of available skin, he revisits his favorite spots and then puts his mouth next to Porthos’ ear so he can tell him how good it feels.  “You’re so amazing, my love.  You are so good to me, so gentle and so perfect. I always know I am in good hands when you are taking care of me.  Even now when you could hurt me so easily you are still so gentle.  _Porthos._ It feels so good, you make me feel so good." 

He rolls his hips again, feeling Porthos’ fingers sinking deeper into him. “Always so perfect, my Porthos. Promise me you will let that leg heal so that some day I can feel you behind me, gripping my hips and fucking into me.  Perfect, still, even when you are no longer gentle.  I want you above me, behind me. I want to feel you holding my head while you fill my mouth." 

“Fuck,” Porthos groans into Aramis’ neck, biting at his favorite spot.  “Such a filthy mouth.” 

“Now.  Now, my perfect Porthos.  Please.”  Aramis is begging as he kneels up, dipping his fingers into the jar and then reaching behind him to slick the head of Porthos’ achingly hard cock. He holds his fingers against the length of it, keeping it in place as he presses himself back against it.  There is that moment, there is always that moment, where it almost seems as though it won’t happen, but Aramis knows better. He forces himself to relax, keeps Porthos cock from slipping away from the tight ring of muscle, and then, as thought it were meant to be, Porthos is slipping inside him. 

Aramis’ hole clenches reflexively around Porthos, but he pushes out again and sinks back and then stills.  Even feeling Porthos in his hand, seeing it with his own eyes, he was unprepared for how big it would feel inside.  “My God, Porthos." 

Porthos’ forehead wrinkles.  “Do you need to stop?" 

“No, never. I only need a moment. You are not small, my heart, and it’s been long enough that this may as well be the first time."  While Aramis is holding still, breathing into the stretch and feeling his body growing hot and relaxed again, Porthos strokes his fingers down Aramis’ chest.  The pads of his fingers at first, then gently with his nails.  Aramis  arches into that like a cat and takes Porthos in another inch.  

 

Between the strokes, the light scratches, the soft endearments Porthos is murmuring, Aramis keeps easing himself down around Porthos, feeling that hot length filling him. When he’s finally flush against Porthos’ skin, his weight keeping Porthos’ hips still, it feels so good he wants to weep.  His hole is already deliciously tender and he knows he will feel this tomorrow, he finds he loves the thought. 

Rather than raise himself again and again, Aramis starts with a slow roll of his hips against Porthos. He rocks forward, feeling Porthos slide out just an inch, then back again to feel Porthos pushing back in.  He feels heat and friction and the slow drag of their bodies against each other. It’s so good, and though Aramis wants to draw it out forever he feels himself speeding up.  He braces his hands against Porthos’ chest, whispers, “Be still now,” and rocks against him over and over. 

“Porthos. Dear God you feel so perfect. This is better than I dreamed, better than I thought it could ever be. I’ve wanted you for so long.” Aramis’ eyes are clenched shut and his dark curls are sticking to his forehead with sweat.  Were it not for the filthy praises dripping from his lips Porthos might worry that he was in pain.  “So very long.  Never even dreamed." 

His fingers clenched around Aramis’ hips, Porthos says, “I can’t. Never want this to stop, but Aramis I won’t last much longer. You’re just so fucking tight and so hot. Fuck."

Aramis soothes him, “There will be a next time, my love, and a time after that." 

Porthos body shudders under him and Aramis can hear him groan low in his throat.  “Promise?” he asks, and his voice is so open that Aramis can hear the worry in it, how unsure he is even now.  Aramis bends and kisses him again, deep and open. 

“I promise.”

Grunting against his lips, Porthos tightens his grips around Aramis' hips.  Any other night he would be bucking his hips up into that amazing heat, fucking himself into Aramis, but even keeping this still Porthos can feel his leg twinge from time to time.  He puts every bit of his strength into fucking Aramis onto his cock using only his upper body.  Aramis grunts the first time, moans the second, and the third time he sighs as he feels Porthos pull him down hard against his hips. 

Aramis takes his own cock in his hand, a trace of the tallow making his fingers slick against himself. He strokes himself feverishly as he feels Porthos jerking and spilling inside him.  A moment later Porthos’ hand joins his and Aramis sets the pace for them until he is letting his head fall back and gasping, spilling over their joined hands. Porthos takes over and strokes Aramis through his orgasm.  He feels the shocks going through Aramis body, making him jerk his hips against Porthos and the sound Aramis makes is almost a laugh. 

When the helpless release of his own body passes, Aramis smiles happily and raises himself up and off of Porthos’ cock.  There’s a shadow of sadness and a frown as he feels himself clenching around the empty space that Porthos filled so well.  Aramis sags down, his head resting in the curve of Porthos’ shoulder. “My perfect Porthos.”  He can feel the laughter rumble against his skin. 

“Hardly.” He looks down at Aramis, tucking a curl behind his ear. “You deserve perfect.” 

The arch of Aramis’ eyebrow is a thing of beauty. “Porthos, I am not a fool nor am I blind, give me the credit to know the missing piece of my heart when I see him." 

“If you insist,” Porthos says, and presses a kiss into Aramis’ hair.  “We should clean up, else we’ll be stuck together like this." 

Aramis hums happily, rolling his body against Porthos and feeling lingering sparks along his spine. “What a terrible thought, yes.” 

Porthos laughs, “You won’t be so happy when your hairs are glued to my skin. Hurts worse than you think." 

Nose wrinkling, Aramis relents. “So beautiful, and so practical and smart as well.”   Aramis fetches a cloth, wetting it from the pitcher and wiping Porthos clean before seeing to his own mess. 

Porthos watches him move and feels the air of the room cold against his sweat-damp body, he wants Aramis’ heat against him again. “Will you go now?” Porthos asks. 

Aramis tosses the cloth back on the table and comes back to sit on the bed next to Porthos. He strokes an idle finger over Porthos’ forehead. “Do you want me to?" 

Porthos feels the tips of his ears get hot but puts a firmness in his voice. “You promised me a next time.” 

“Mm,” Aramis says, climbing onto the bed and pulling the linen over them as he settles back into the curve of Porthos’ shoulder, just as he had been. “I did, yes, and a time after that as well." 

“Best we should both get our rest then, yeah?” Porthos says, smiling. 

Aramis kisses him again because he can. “So very sensible, my love,” and it seems like between that breath and the next, they are asleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't you like how we all just pretended that 'tallow' meant something other than 'rendered animal fat' so that we could preserve the mood? If you're at all curious, pomatum was an actual thing. It's hair oil, usually meant to set wigs, but I'll take it. And it is also mentioned, in period, as a sexual lubricant if the man is... ample.


End file.
